


u and me, we don't breathe

by Anonymous



Category: SMPLive
Genre: Alternate Universe, Possessive Behavior, alternate universe- 1984 fusion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21609490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: war is peace, freedom is slavery, ignorance is power.wilbur soot stops.schlatt carries on.
Relationships: No Relationships
Comments: 2
Kudos: 52
Collections: Anonymous





	u and me, we don't breathe

**Author's Note:**

> hello
> 
> also no this isn't shipping, lol  
> also also this is very loosely based on 1984 so :-/

the clock strikes three.

wilbur soot turns to his computer and sighs, staring at the musical notes and features appearing. the small icon next to it is glowing red, showing the monitoring of the higher ranks watching down on him. looming at him, staring at him. he doesn't know what to think. but he remembers his sudden state and his class, and carries on.

wilbur soot is a plain worker of the ministry of truth, dealing with the main arts and news and entertainment. due to his talent in music, he managed to gain a place for the ministry of truth as a second-class, middle-class- the "outer party". they really make only 13% of the population, meanwhile the lower class making around 80% of the population as lower class, uneducated workers. wilbur soot is not one of them. he's different, but at what cost? he would say to himself, many times a day, thinking in the rainy days and the depressing atmosphere of why and how he made it to climbing up in life, in oceania. he should be happy, shouldn't he? then, he would whisper in cloudy times in the night, guitar next to him, why wasn't he? how different was life in other places, how were they living? wilbur pretended to cherish the party, the ultimate classes, and praise them for whatever they did. in reality, it was disturbing and shocked wilbur to the core. disgusting, he'd think, helping the party with his dirty hands. helping them with propaganda, a simple word that would shove him in prison, and openly help keep the country in a total controlled state. his hands. it was him, it was him? he doesn't know anymore. he'd rather not now, it felt too confusing.

wilbur does not see the gleaming, bright eyes look at him at curiosity. he doesn't see the glances striking at him, he doesn't see the smirk or the simple gestures secretly given. the book he had received on his desk- creamy pages and a fresh honey smell made him feel different ways. it was new, and something he wanted to feel in years and years. the simple little gesture made his week. he kept the book tightly with him at all times, never checking once- but twice to make sure that he had not forgotten the book. after the work (the tiring work, he would say to himself. but was he allowed to say it to the world?) and grabs his phone. though the country has extreme policies that would make mankind leave, wilbur luckily had the right of obtaining a phone and called home. his home was pretty shabby, but it was still home. pretty large too ever since the lower class had stopped fighting. ever since blood was on the streets. wilbur had has friends, from his young days of primary school to the frustrating a levels in secondary school and the comfortable evenings of lazing around in college with his mates. though. it had changed too much ever since the party had taken over. too much.

he wasn't sure if he was even allowed to have group chats. wilbur was too worried about asking the police. he knew they were always watching. while he waited for the bus, he looked up at the live bus time table. 5 minutes. 5 minutes to remind himself of all the stupid memories of the police, again. independent thought was heavily discouraged, and freedom of speech was no more. as he felt the little raindrops fly like bullets, he thought of the poor old woman last week, and her crystal tears. it was tuesday. a bright morning infested with the cold mist of the helicopters of the thought police- they were really named. as wilbur waited for the bus, eating a small scone, he noticed an old woman sitting next to him. she was pretty small, and had larger eyebags than anyone wilbur has ever seen. quite shocking, considering he went to university. he noticed the small bony hands slightly shiver as her thin coat had terribly sewn on pieces. wilbur felt weird, suddenly feeling like he shouldn't be eating the scone. his thick scarf was around him, comforting him. he should do something.

another thought hissed, quietly, "no, you shouldn't!"

"ma'am."

he looks down, seeing her eyes more clearly under dirty spectacles. beautiful, sparkling sapphires basked in the moonlight. though, he sees, they're quite dimmed.

"yes, young man?"

"you're, you're cold. please wear this. i don't need it."

she's quite shocked. he's not supriised considering how people, people like _her_ are treated.

"no, no!" she waves her hands quickly. "i cannot, sir!"

"don't worry!" he slightly grins, trying to ease the situation. "i've got loads of sweaters. you need it more than i do. you're shivering, please take it."

she looks down, her pointy dull shoes on the cobblestone. 

"thank you so much.. do you want anything, i don't really have the money- but,"

"no! don't worry! it's nothing, nothing at all. you don't owe me anything."

he hears the sniff and the sob.

her eyes, the sapphires- filled with glassy tears pour down her face, slowly and slowly, trickling down.

"thank you, sir. thank you."

wilbur smiles one more time, feeling like he can finally eat the scone again. the bus comes, the cameras are on, and he steps in.

he doesn't notice the slightly shocked face. doesn't notice the uniform standing quite close to him.


End file.
